


It Takes More Than A Knife To Kill A Monster

by eddiewrites307



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Death, Explicit Language, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a dick, I can't write anything without the f-word, I'm sure y'all are tired of me writing Hannibal but here we go again kids, Love Letters, M/M, Mild Gore, Stalking, Will is a Mess, Will is in mourning, dark fluff is literally the tag of this fandom, dramatic ass bitch, i tried a new-ish writing style, it was great fun, it's ~complicated~, set somewhere in season 1, sorta - Freeform, this is kinda dark and kinda fluffy all at once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eddiewrites307/pseuds/eddiewrites307
Summary: When Will discovers Hannibal's true identity as the Ripper, he kills him. Shortly thereafter, he starts receiving letters from an unknown source.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	It Takes More Than A Knife To Kill A Monster

Will’s horrified gaze slowly went from his bloodied hands, fingers still clutching the handle of his knife in a sort of sheer desperation, to the body of one Hannibal Lecter, spread eagle on the floor, bruised and bloodied with the throat torn open by uncaring steel. He rose to his feet, shaky, unsteady, and stumbled to the door.

Hannibal Lecter was the Chesapeake Ripper, and now he was dead.

There would be a commendation, and no trial.

~   


It was a few weeks after that, that the letters started.

They were simple things, always just a piece of paper folded in half, somehow always getting into Will’s house to be found on his kitchen table come morning.

Will had Jack look into who was sending them, but there was never any way to tell.

No two letters were ever the same.

_ Did you feel shame in killing Hannibal Lecter? Or did you feel powerful? _ _   
_

_ You looked lovely today as you led your dogs through the woods. _

_ Do you miss him? _ _   
_

_ Your new suit fits you well. _

_ Do you regret it? _ _   
_

~   


Will kept the letters. He couldn’t explain why he didn’t, not to himself, and no one else knew to ask. They sat in a box underneath his bed to be opened and flipped through on a whim. Something about the letters seemed familiar, comforting almost, despite the jagged fear that came with them.

Will let out a shaky laugh, burying his fingers in his hair to yank slightly, focus, steady himself. Pain was real, as was his decaying mental health. He was being stalked, followed by someone who knew things they had no business to know.

_ Do you think God will congratulate you on destroying that which seeked to oppose him? _

The last conversation Will had with Hannibal, with the Ripper, before Will has slit his throat, was based on the same question. Hannibal had asked Will, staring him down with those fathomless eyes, if he thought God would congratulate him, perhaps slow down his damnation, if he were to rid the world of a murderer. Will didn’t think to ask why Hannibal thought he was damned. The answer seemed pretty obvious.

How did the person behind the letters know of this conversation? How did they know the last thing Hannibal had said before Will ripped into the Ripper, scattering his blood across his own pristine floors?

They had no way of knowing. They had no way of knowing how Will took his coffee, but they did. They had no way of knowing Will’s schedule with his dogs and his classes at the academy, but they did. They have no way of knowing all the little nuances of Will’s mental health, his hallucinations, his trauma, but they did.

It was almost like having Hannibal back.

Perhaps that was why Will sought comfort in these letters. They felt familiar like the dead, like the man Will killed for killing (and eating, and  _ eating _ , oh god) so many others. 

Was it wrong? Was it so wrong to miss the man who brought such stability into Will’s life? Was it so wrong to miss the one person who was always there with a calm sense of understanding, a firm hand to the shoulder, a kind smile on a familiar face?   


Yes, it was, it was when that stability had created chaos, when that firm hand had dismantled muscle and bone, when that kind smile had been smeared with innocent blood.

Will pulled his hair again, relishing in the sharp pain blooding across his scalp, standing and grabbing the letter of the day. He opened it, dragging his finger across the edge of the formal paper and watching the small cut well up with blood.

~

_ Will, _

_ Do you not seek who writes you? Do you not wish to know who sees you and reaches out? It’s been months. Months since he died, months since I have reached out. Are you not curious? _

_ You know how to fine me, Will. You have yet to admit it to yourself, but you know exactly how to find me. _

_ Has the stag allowed you to sleep as of late? The bags under your eyes seem to worsen by the day. Perhaps it’s time to look into a new psychiatrist. _

_ Or perhaps you should simply come find me. _

~

Will stared at the letter in disbelief. Why would this person want to be found? They had been operating in secrecy for this long, and now they grew tired of it?   


_ You know exactly how to find me. _

Will did. 

But did he want to find them? The answer to that was more than a little complicated.

His eyes strayed to the corner of the paper, where his own blood stained red, and he made up his mind.

~   


Hannibal’s office was exactly how it had been left. The furniture was all there, covered by white sheets. Hannibal’s blood still stained the floor, unable to be scrubbed out of the grain of the wood. The room seemed haunted, haunted by all that it’s walls had seen.

Will stood in the very middle, staring out of the window at the nightlife of Baltimore, not turning as he felt the presence of someone behind him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

“I do regret it,” he spoke aloud to the window. “I regret it every day. He offered to take me with him, run away from this life, and I couldn’t even risk entertaining the thought. I’ve tried so hard, for so long, to be normal. I’ve tried for years to build a life for myself, to ignore the darkness that screamed to be paid attention to, but I never had to try with him. In hindsight, I should’ve known he was a killer. No one else would’ve understood me so well.” He rolled his shoulders back, giddy with finally confessing all that he had sinned. “I should’ve gone with him.”

Will turned suddenly, eyes seeking the person who had led to all this, but they stayed in the shadows, just beyond his line of sight.

“Are you going to kill me?” Will asked, daring, abrupt. “Is this how this ends? I won’t stop you.” He turned back to the window, whether to make it easy or to avoid seeing it coming, he didn’t know. 

A hand, a hand familiar in its weight and warmth, landed on Will’s shoulder. It pulled him back into a familiarly broad chest, and Will instantly knew the scent that surrounded him. 

“My Will, I have much greater plans than death for you.”   


That voice, that  _ goddamn voice. _

Will twisted in Hannibal’s grasp, tears forcing themselves from his eyes as he stared into the angular face that had been haunting his dreams. “How the  _ fuck _ -” he started, before cutting himself off, shaking his head and burying his face in Hannibal’s chest. When he spoke, the words were muffled. “No, no, I don’t even want to fucking know.”   


Hannibal simply held him, one hand burying itself in Will’s curls, the other warm against his back.

They would have to run, and soon. They would have to gather Will’s meager belongings and escape, go abroad and start a life there.

But as for this moment?   


All they needed were each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in an hour immediately after I woke up. Someone save me.


End file.
